by Nancy Chase
“Did you succeed?”
“No.” He trailed his fingertips across the cracked and gilded spines of the volumes on the shelf. “All the knowledge ever written is stored in the books in this library, and I’ve read every word of it, but there is no way to turn stone into gold.”
“Every word?” Catrin gawked at the incredible number of books stacked on the shelves around them. “That must have taken you—”
“Five hundred years. All of it wasted.”
“Five hundred years?” Baldwin exclaimed. “Are you a ghost?”
The scholar rolled his eyes. “Do I look like a ghost to you?”
“Tell me,” Catrin interrupted, “in all your studying did you ever read a Story—”
“There are no stories here. Only facts.”
Catrin sighed. “Yes, well, I didn’t suppose it would be that simple.”
One by one, Baldwin handed her the keys, and Hugh helped her locate the matching locks. Each lock came to life at her touch, until the library’s centuried stillness succumbed to the pandemonium of talking bluebirds, flowers, turtles, bees, dragonflies, glow-worms, and kittens. One by one, Catrin flung back the shutters and banished a few more of the room’s shadows.
The last lock unfolded itself into a brilliant blue butterfly. It clung to her fingers, fanning its wings until she held it aloft and sent it wobbling into the air. “Finished!” She nudged the last pair of shutters open. Sunlight washed the room from all directions. On its pedestal, the crystal stone was no longer clear, but filled with a swirling, milky iridescence. Catrin went over and cupped her hands around it, her fingers and face bathed in its cool brilliance.
“Go ahead, recite the riddle,” Baldwin urged.
“And whatever happens, be on your guard,” Hugh cautioned. “Things are not always what they seem.”
“You worry too much, Hugh.” Between her palms, the stone pulsed like a living thing. She stroked it lightly and murmured the words:
“What fetters may bind
The will and the mind
With locks that no one can see?
When you’re caught in a snare
Made of sunshine and air
What hand will offer the key?”
The humming intensified, and the light from the hundred open windows streamed through the dusty air, each beam focused on the great crystal globe. The rays spun like the spokes of a wheel, three times around, then the globe swallowed them all, sucking the light inside, leaving the room in darkness for the space of an eye blink. Before anyone could react, the light returned to normal and the humming ceased. Everything was still.
Catrin released the crystal. “See? Nothing bad happened.”
“Yes.” Hugh frowned. “It seems nothing happened at all.”
“Something should have happened,” Baldwin said. “Shouldn’t it?”
The stone gleamed in the mote-speckled sunlight. Below the tower, the sea breathed like a sleeping child. Even the menagerie of strange creatures hushed their cacophony.
“You mean it didn’t work?” Catrin exclaimed. “That can’t be. I completed the task. It has to work!”
“Don’t worry, Princess,” said a soft voice. The three of them whirled in unison, but it was only the brown-speckled dove. It folded its wings primly and waddled along one of the windowsills. “There is no need for any more riddles now. Look!”
Catrin looked out the window. The air shimmered, and by some magic it seemed that she could see everything for a hundred miles or more. She could see every detail of her father’s castle: the banners streaming from the top of the towers, the sunlight on the gate, the honeybees on the flowers in the garden.
Old Hobb gossiped in the kitchen doorway, while inside his wife kneaded dough. She, doubting specters but loving scandal, said, “Queen’s ghost, pshaw, maybe it was the princess. Maybe she has a lover.”
Megan hobbled out with a bundle under her arm. “Not my Little Bird. She’s still grieving over that sailor lad. She barely speaks, only stares out at the sea with the same wild look her mother had at the last. If the king insists on this marriage, I fear things will come to a sorry end.”
She glanced furtively over her shoulder and continued in a lower voice. “Look you, I cannot bear for anything to happen to the poor child. I’ve made up this bundle of clothes and such for her, and tonight when the castle is asleep, I’ve arranged for a cart to come round and take her off to my cousin Nettie’s farm. It isn’t much of a place, but it’s remote enough, and no one will think to look there for her, at least for a little while. She’ll be able to live in peace till she can think what to do next.”
Catrin clapped her hands. “Good old Megan. I should have known I could count on her. Did you see, Baldwin?”
“Yes,” the knight said. “But wouldn’t it be cowardly to run away like that? Wouldn’t your father throw Megan and her cousin into a dungeon if he found out?”
“I suppose you’re right. I didn’t think of that. I wouldn’t want them to get in trouble.”
“But Princess,” cooed the dove, “there’s more to see. Look again!”
She looked. Hooves rang on cobblestones in the courtyard of her father’s castle, where half a dozen liveried messengers were mounting mettlesome horses and preparing to ride. When the trumpeter blew his gilded horn, the guards snapped to attention.
The king strode out, his long robe sweeping the ground behind him. “Stop! Give me those invitations. I have been much troubled in my thoughts these past few days, but now I know I was wrong. My daughter has told me she does not wish to wed. She has already suffered too much in her tender years and deserves whatever happiness I can grant her. Therefore, I will abide by her will.” He tore the invitations in half and let the pieces fall to the ground.
“Baldwin!” Catrin gasped. “I can go home!”
“It does seem that your father has had a change of heart.”
“Things are not always what they seem,” Hugh said again.
“My father loves me. He does not want to see me suffer.”
His lips tightened. “I’m sure you’re right. But isn’t it rather odd that a king would change his mind for no reason?”
“I don’t see why. A king can do whatever he wants, can’t he?” She knew she sounded sulky, but she couldn’t help it.
“Did you listen to the words of the riddle? Did you hear that stone humming like a thousand bees? Doesn’t it occur to you that this might all be a trick to get you to abandon your quest and forget your vow to Geoffrey?”
“He tore up the invitations,” she insisted. “I saw it with my own eyes!”
“Geoffrey,” said the dove, “is not dead.”
“What?” Catrin’s face paled.
“It’s a lie!” Hugh shouted.
“Shut up!” She approached the dove. “What do you mean, he’s not dead? Where is he?”
“Not far away.” The dove retreated coyly along the window ledge. “Would you like to see him again?”
“Yes, of course! Show me.”
“Come, then, and look out to sea.”
She ran to the opposite side of the tower, where the windows faced the rolling waves. Behind her, the crystal burned with a fierce, white light, but her eyes were on the ship that had just dropped anchor in the harbor below. Its figurehead was a carved wooden osprey with swept-back wings. “Geoffrey’s ship.”
Hugh slumped onto his bench and buried his face in his hands. Baldwin shifted uneasily. “Geoffrey’s ship splintered on the rocks,” he told the scholar. “Catrin told me she saw the wreckage. Geoffrey might have survived, but his ship—”
“I told you,” Hugh said, “it is all lies.”
“What should we do?”
Catrin overheard. “You needn’t to do anything, my friends. You have both done so much for me already, and I thank you for it. But I must leave you now. Geoffrey has come for me, and the tide won’t wait.”
A dark-haired young sailor stood in the ship’s bow, gazing up at her. She
saw the white flash of his teeth as he smiled. Suddenly the ship seemed much closer, as if the sea had risen or the tower had shrunk. Swaying in the breeze, a light, graceful, rope bridge linked her window with the ship’s deck. She climbed up onto the window ledge and reached for the rope.
“Stop her!” Hugh cried, but Baldwin was already in motion. He caught her about the waist just before she could step out onto the bridge.
“Let go of me!” She struggled ferociously against him. “I have to go to him!” Her desperation gave her strength, and she nearly got free.
“Do something,” Baldwin yelled at Hugh, “I can’t hold onto her!”
Hugh glanced around, seeking some source of help. The crystal blazed like a fallen star. He hurled himself at it, striking the heavy mahogany pedestal with all his weight. The stone toppled and crashed to the thick, dusty rug with a muffled thump that shook the tower.
Catrin gave a wordless cry of anguish: The rope bridge had vanished. Outside the window, the sunlit sky bulged and darkened; the sea rose up to meet it with a clap like thunder.
Where was Geoffrey’s ship? Somewhere behind her, all the lock-creatures shrieked and careened from wall to wall. She turned just in time to see the scholar—now standing over the fallen stone—pull a heavy iron-bound book from the shelf and raise it high over his head.
“Hugh, no!” Her scream froze him in place before he could bring it down and smash the crystal. Butterflies and bees orbited the room at blinding speeds.
“Why not?” His words lashed her like a whip. He didn’t lower the book.
“Because—” All at once, she was confused. “Well, because—” She broke away from Baldwin and staggered toward the scholar. When he only raised the book higher, she stopped, her hands outstretched, pleading, but he showed no pity.
“Why, Princess? Speak, or I will break the crystal into a thousand bits.”
A frenzied ladybug ricocheted off her cheekbone. “Because Geoffrey’s ship will vanish!”
Hugh persisted. “Why would it do that?”
“Because—” She faltered and looked away.
“Say it,” he commanded.
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Because it isn’t real.”
Her bones felt like water. Hugh dropped the book and rushed to catch her as her knees buckled. She collapsed against his velvet tunic, inhaling its comforting smell of faded myrrh. “That’s right, isn’t it?” she asked. “None of this is real? All the turtles and birds and daffodils? If we break the stone, they will all disappear?”
“Yes, Princess, that’s right. I am very sorry.”
“There was no true rope bridge, was there? I would have fallen nine stories into the sea if you and Baldwin hadn’t stopped me.”
A panic-stricken hummingbird swooped past her ear and got caught in her hair. She gently untangled it. When it was free, it just lay in her hand, panting. She handed it to Hugh and stepped back to the window.
She saw Megan out in the herb garden picking fragrant sprigs of chamomile, hyssop, and betony, probably to brew her another pot of soothing tea. She saw her father in the courtyard, talking with the captain of the guards. “She is not to be allowed to leave the castle grounds, do you understand? She is overwrought, and I don’t want any unfortunate incidents like that of her mother.”
The guard looked alarmed at this, but the king continued. “And furthermore, when the wedding guests arrive, you are to make sure, tactfully of course, that they are all who they say they are. If that wretched sailor didn’t in fact go down with his ship, he is not under any circumstances to be allowed to enter.”
Baldwin cleared his throat. “If the king fears Geoffrey’s arrival, doesn’t that mean there has been no proof that he is dead?”
Catrin glanced questioningly at the scholar, but he only shrugged. “You may look, Princess, if you can bear to see the answer.”
Catrin stepped across to the opposite window, turning her eyes to where the sea had no edge. She could see for a hundred miles, but she could not see its end. It rolled and slid and raced along, sleek and wild as a fine horse. It was endless and depthless, just as Geoffrey had said. No one could tame it, no one could cage it, and it would carry a brave sailor on a strong ship anywhere he wished to go.
But today, not a sail was to be seen. “He is dead,” she whispered.
Baldwin laid a hand on her arm. “Princess?”
She managed a ragged smile. “I think I know the answer to the riddle.”
The speckled dove was perched on top of the stone like a hen on an oversized egg. Catrin crossed the room and knelt down beside it.
“It’s not too late, Princess,” the dove said. “Replace the stone on the pedestal, and all will be well. You’ll see.”
“I’ve seen enough.”
It fluffed its mottled feathers angrily. “Answer my riddle, then:
“What fetters may bind
The will and the mind
With locks that no one can see?
When you’re caught in a snare
Made of sunshine and air
What hand will offer the key?”
Catrin did not hesitate:
“Though Illusions may bind
The will and the mind
With locks that no one can see,
When I’m caught in a snare
Made of sunshine and air
It is Truth that will offer the key.”
From her pocket, she pulled out the little key that had once locked the box that held her golden book. On the ship, just before the storm, Geoffrey had given it back to her. “I unlocked a hundred locks with a hundred keys, and I thought I had gotten them all. But now I realize that there is one more, a secret lock, more powerful than all the others.”
She reached out. When the key touched the stone, the crystal sphere cracked open, and the dove became a Magpie.
Before it could fly away, she grabbed it by the feet and held fast. A door swung wide, and she fell through space with the wind whistling past her ears. Trying to jerk herself back to safety, she banged her head on a bedpost and opened her eyes in her own bedroom.
The Magpie gave up trying to free itself. “Well done, Princess. We are most impressed.”
“Will you give me back my Story?”
“You know I can’t do that. You must answer all the riddles first.”
“Very well,” Catrin said. “That is when I will let you out again.” She stuffed the second Magpie into the magic pouch with the first one.
“Who are you talking to, Catrin?” The king came in, followed by Megan, bearing Catrin’s supper tray.
Catrin thrust the pouch and both her withered arms under the covers. “No one. I just woke up. I was dreaming,” she added with sudden inspiration, “of Mother’s ghost.”
By the clash of dishes, she knew that Megan had nearly dropped the tray. The princess gave a small, secret smile. Soon all the castle servants would be convinced the queen’s spirit really did walk the halls and courtyards. That would make things easier if anyone did happen to see her coming or going.
“You should be dreaming of your prince, Little Bird,” the king chided. “There are only five more days before your wedding. Let me tell you about the arrangements I have made for the musicians to play at the grand ball....”
Catrin slept restlessly that night and woke in the still, secret hour just before dawn. She put on her black dress and, since she didn’t want anyone to recognize her now that the convenient ghost story was spreading, this time she put a black veil over her face. She slipped down the stairs and out to the stable.
Hobb was sitting in front of the horse’s stall with a tankard and a half-empty jug of ale beside him. “Oh ho,” he wheezed, “I knew ye’d be back, yer Majesty. I told them so. I’ve been waiting up for ye all through the night. By yer leave, I even got yer mount all saddled up for ye already.” He staggered to his feet and raised the tankard. “To yer very good—er, spirits, madam! The kingdom hain’t been the same wi’out ye.”
“Thank you, Hobb.” She took the horse’s reins and swung into the saddle. By the time he had finished his exaggerated, clumsy bow, she was past the castle gate and thundering along the hillside with the stallion’s mane and tail flying like foam behind.
The third Magpie was waiting in the forest clearing, just as the others had been. “Ready for the next riddle, Princess?”
“I am.”
“Very well. Here it is:
“Reap your harvest, day by day,
What is the chaff that blows away?
Keep your harvest, grain by grain,
What are the kernels that remain?”
She nodded. “You will have my answer by sunset.” With a touch of her heels to the stallion’s flanks, she rode away, not stopping until she reached the little hut by the sea.
“Come out, old crone!” She slid from the saddle. “I have another riddle.”
The crooked door opened, and the crone appeared in the doorway. When Catrin told her the riddle, she grunted. “Hmph. To answer that riddle, you must ask the Giant’s Wheel. Will you give me what you have in your sack?”
“No. You must take something else.”
The crone’s eyebrows swooped together above her sharp nose like two gulls on a single fish. “I will take your left leg. Mine aches so on cold mornings.”
Catrin didn’t answer right away. She saw the crone’s smooth, white hands resting against the door jamb as lightly as two flowers. Her own hands, gripping the horse’s reins, were thin and knobbed as winter twigs. She heaved a sigh. At least her legs were hidden by her skirts, so no one would ever see the ugly transformation. “Very well. You may take my leg.”
When it was done and her long skirts shaken back into place, Catrin mounted the horse again, with more difficulty this time because of the ache in her knee. The crone walked beside her down to the sea. “Take a handful of grain from the bowl you will find on the table in the White Tower’s great hall. Then follow the road to the south until you come to an old mill and a wide field. In the center of the field is a stone called the Giant’s Wheel. From your grain you must make a hundred loaves of bread. Then the wheel will give you your answer.”
